


In Search of Something More

by benedictedcumberbatched



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 18th Century, F/M, Medical Procedures, Shipwrecks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 09:45:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9650201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictedcumberbatched/pseuds/benedictedcumberbatched
Summary: She breached the surface, gasping as she was instantly lashed in the face by the heavy rain and wind. She could feel the heavy folds of her dress and petticoats dragging her down again. She kicked her feet as hard and slow as she could to keep herself afloat. The waves churned around her pushing her this way and that.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MizJoely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/gifts).



The rush of water.  
Pressure.  
Ears popping.  
Tumbling.  
Panic.  
WILLIAM!

She breached the surface, gasping as she was instantly lashed in the face by the heavy rain and wind. She could feel the heavy folds of her dress and petticoats dragging her down again. She kicked her feet as hard and slow as she could to keep herself afloat. The waves churned around her pushing her this way and that.

“Will?!” she shouted, trying to be heard over the rain and the waves. “Will!” A large wave crashed down over her, shoving her back under. She scrambled, forcing herself back above the waves. A wooden crate bobbed before her and she threw her arms over it, coughing. 

Exhaustion took over, her eyes closing as she bobbed along.

\--

A gentle ebb and flow.  
The crackle of burning wood.  
The tickle of her hair against her cheek.  
The grainy scratching of sand.

“Will?” she called out sitting up suddenly. 

“How many times have I told you, Ms. Hooper? It’s Sherlock,” came a male voice to her left.

Scrambling to her feet, she brushed her salt stiffened hair away from her face before running toward him. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest and took a deep breath drawing in the scent that was specifically his and the salt from the sea.

“How many times have I told you it’s not Ms. Hooper, it’s Molly,” she retorted, her voice muffled against his shirt. 

He chuckled before drawing back and looking down at her.

“Are there other survivors?” she asked her arms dropping to her sides. 

“I haven’t seen any others yet,” he replied. “Running the risk of sounding indecent, you should probably remove our outer clothes. It will be hot during the day and I’m going to need you fully functioning in order to help me get the attention of the next passing ship. There was another behind us and should have survived the storm.”

Molly began tugging at the ties of her riding habit and stays. She didn’t need it and never understood why women insisted on wearing them. Tossing her clothes aside she turned back to Sherlock and watched him hobble over to a stack of drift wood he had gathered while she had been out. “You’re hurt. Let me look,” she said starting toward him.

“I’m fine. Help me stoke the fire.”

“You are not fine. Let me look. Sit,” she directed pointing at a larger piece of driftwood beside the fire.

“For god's sake, Molly. I’m fine!”

“William Holmes, sit down!”

With a growl he sat down and stuck his leg out. Molly knelt down on the sand beside him and turned his leg aside gently ignoring his hiss of pain as the skin pulled. His silk stockings were long since discarded and his breeches were torn at the knee. Drawing aside the tear, she looked at the deep cut in his leg. It looked clean but would not heal correctly if she didn’t attempt to stitch it together. “Stay put. Do not move.” 

Getting up she returned to her discarded clothing and tore off one of the clasps on her coat bending it into a hook. Using the sharp end she pulled at the smallest thread she could find in her stays attempting to keep it in one piece. Finally she tore off a piece of cloth in ripped it into long strips.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Sherlock. This is going to hurt and I have nothing to give you to dull the pain. Just please do not move while I’m doing this,” she explained before holding her makeshift hook over the fire. Pushing his skin together she began to push her makeshift needle and thread through his skin. He bit his lip hard as she worked, groaning with each tug of the thread. Finally she finished, his skin raw and bleeding where she stitched him up. He had long since passed out. Wrapping the cloth strips around his wound she tied it off and stood up, stretching before tucking the last strip of cloth into the waist of her petticoat. She wandered down to the edge of the water again and rinsed off her hands, the water turning red where she had stuck her hands in. Molly took the cloth out of her waistband and dipped it in the water before returning to his side, wringing it out as she walked.She folded the cloth up and pressed it against his forehead and cheeks.

He moaned, turning his face toward her. “Now where did you learn to do that, Ms. Hooper,” he muttered, his voice like gravel.

She laughed softly, bending over and pressing her lips to his. “You know damn well where I learnt how to do that. And it’s Molly.”

\--

A week later, as she helped him walk down the gangway to the pier in Boston Harbor, this strange new city, she knew if they could survive a week on that island, they would be able survive whatever this fledgling country would throw at them.


End file.
